PAKISTAN: Rescuers used sledgehammers and their hands to dig out victims of the earthquake, reports Declan Walsh in Muzaffarabad, where an estimated 11,000 people perished
A faint wail of prayer could be heard as the last light faded across the crushed city of Muzaffarabad. Four men carried a tiny, bloodstained bundle down the rubble-strewn streets. But the dignified procession - to mark another infant death - went almost unnoticed in a place where an estimated 11,000 people perished on Saturday, the highest single death toll of the south Asian earthquake.
Muzaffarabad, the capital of Pakistani Kashmir, has become a city of fear and mourning. The quake turned streets into grey mountains of collapsed concrete, twisted metal and crushed cars. Power lines were strewn across roads whose asphalt surfaces had split, and two small trucks hung from a tree, apparently flung from the crest of a nearby hill.
The toll remains provisional - hundreds, probably thousands, of bodies lie beneath the rubble, buried beyond the reach of the only rescue tools available: sledgehammers and human hands. As darkness fell, the city's population huddled by lamplight outside their destroyed homes and shops, terrified to sleep under a roof again. A snaking ribbon of headlights lit up the road to Mansehra, 33 miles away, as thousands of residents fled by car, rickshaw or on foot.
Outside a half-collapsed draper's shop, Waqar Qayuun stood by the remains of his brother, Zulfiqar, whose body was wrapped in a bloodstained sheet. "We walked through the night to get here this morning," he said. "And we will carry him home on our shoulders if we have to." First, though, they would have to find their father - he had gone in search of his other brother. "He is missing but we pray not dead, God willing," he said.
But in the smaller town of Garhi Habibullah, 20 miles west, hope was all but extinguished. Until the weekend, there were schools for boys and girls, a hospital and a cemetery there. Now only the tombstones were still standing.
Maqsood Rehman stood chest-high inside a fresh grave, the blood of the dead and injured staining one arm. The volunteer had dug 11 graves in the past two days, he said. Most victims came from the girls' secondary school barely 50m away, which crumpled in an instant with an estimated 350 pupils inside.
School watchman Muhammad Shafiq said he escaped with seconds to spare, dashing into an open space as the concrete folded behind him. The school secretary, with whom he had been speaking an instant earlier, was not so lucky. "We buried him a few hours ago," he said.
A team of local rescuers - teachers, mullahs, traders and medical workers - initially scrambled to find survivors, clambering over the roof and peeling back its corrugated metal shell. They saved 95 lives, said Mr Shafiq, who rescued one student by lifting a concrete pillar using a car wheel jack.
Lacking proper cutting tools and fearing to probe too deep into the tottering wreckage, they eventually gave up. "We could hear voices until about one o'clock. We pulled the bodies out until four. By six it was quiet."
By yesterday they had recovered 150 corpses but reckoned there could be 100 more, he said. As he spoke, a fresh tremor shook the ground. The US Geological Survey reported 22 aftershocks in the 24 hours after Saturday's quake, one of which measured 6.2 on the Richter scale.
Garhi Habibullah's hospital had been packed with women and children queuing for vaccines, said medical assistant Zerina Iqbal. Now the waiting room was crushed, three bodies had been recovered, and she feared up to 100 more were in the wreckage.
Inevitably, despair turned to anger, with many victims feeling abandoned by the government of President Pervez Musharraf. "Thirty-six hours and not one government person has come to visit. Can you believe it?" cried Muhammad Farooq. A chorus of indignation rose behind him. "Our homes are 60 years old and are still standing. The government buildings went up just three years ago and look at them now," said another man, gesturing at the grey rubble.
Rescue operations continued in nearby Balakot, and makeshift ambulances raced along the twisting roads to the main hospital at Mansehra. The medical staff were overwhelmed. "We have no proper antibiotics, no painkillers and hardly any instruments," said one despairing doctor.
Nazir Rehman (45) forced his injured wife to drink from a packet of mango juice as there were no drips available. Mr Rehman looked exhausted - his father and sister-in-law were already dead, he said. He had been praying when the earthquake struck.
"The ground started to shake and spin like a top, then our house fell over," he said, rubbing his eyes then tugging his beard. "It was just like hell." - (Guardian service)